The Marcelli Bride

2

Darcy heard the murmurings of her temporary Secret Service team before she heard the knock on the door. The whispered “Swan is here” warned her of her sister’s approach.

She stayed in her apartment bedroom, one of the guys in suits would get the door, and continued her packing. In less than four hours she would be whisked away to an undisclosed location for however long it took to find the crazies after her sister. Based on the Secret Service’s current level of competency, she could be gone for months.

Not knowing where she was headed made packing a problem. All she knew was she was staying in the continental United States and that she was expected to stay very low-key when she arrived.

News flash-she didn’t want to walk around flaunting herself. One kidnapping in a lifetime was more than enough.

She grabbed a handful of shorts, some T-shirts and jeans, and tossed them on the bed.

The bedroom door opened and Lauren entered. The two Secret Service agents with her hovered in the hall then nodded at the single agent standing in the corner of Darcy’s bedroom.

Lauren crossed to Darcy, grabbed her upper arms, and stared into her eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked, sounding near tears. “Did they hurt you?”

Darcy had a few bruises from her ride in the back of the van, some sore muscles, and several raw spots around her wrists from the ropes. She hadn’t slept at all the previous night and couldn’t imagine ever not feeling afraid again. But the agent in the room kept her from saying all that.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Lauren didn’t release her. “Are you sure? I was so worried.”

A change, Darcy thought. In the past year, she’d been the one worried about Lauren.

“If anything had happened to you…,” Lauren said, those threatening tears finally making an appearance. “I couldn’t stand to lose one more person I love.”

Darcy appreciated the sentiment, knew it was true, and told herself neither of them had time for a breakdown. Lauren had finally surfaced from the emotional devastation of the shocking death of her young husband, and Darcy refused to let her sink back into despair over a botched kidnapping. Darcy might be hearing things go bump in the night, but she refused to let her sister be afraid.

She drew in a deep breath as she took in Lauren’s outfit. The aqua and pink sundress just grazed generous curves in unwrinkled perfection. Delicate pearls graced her sister’s tiny ears. Her sling backs matched her purse, and a narrow woven silver and pearl bracelet completed the ensemble. She wore her long, wavy blond hair pulled back in an elegant clasp. She would fit in equally well having lunch at the club or hosting an afternoon charity event.

“Why do you always have to dress like an Easter egg?” Darcy asked. “Do you own anything in a primary color? I know you could never wear black. How scandalous. The heavens would open and weep.”

Lauren’s intense gaze never wavered. “At least I don’t dress like a former rock groupie in mourning. Does every single outfit have to be tone-on-tone black? It’s summer, for heaven’s sake. Lighten up and wear a color.”

Darcy felt the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. Lauren began to giggle. Laughter escaped, and then they were hugging each other tight. Darcy hung on tighter than usual.

“When they told me what happened, I nearly died,” Lauren whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry. I wish it had been me.”

Darcy straightened. “No, you don’t. Trust me on that.”

“But they wanted me instead of you.”

“Don’t they all. That’s the world in which we live. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Darcy, don’t.” Lauren sighed. “I feel horrible.”

“Don’t. Do you know where they’re taking you?” she asked.

“No. You?”

“I want to be safe. Something I’m not sure the moron brigade can do.”

Lauren shot the agent in the room an apologetic glance then turned on her sister. “Darcy, no. You can’t be mad at your team.”

“Why not? If they’d been doing their job, I wouldn’t have been taken.” From the corner of her eye she saw the agent flinch. Well, too bad. If they’d been doing their job, she would never have realized that she was at risk.

She’d had Secret Service protection for years and had never considered it more than an annoyance. She’d always known that she and Lauren were technically possible targets, but she’d felt safe surrounded by the grim-faced agents. Not anymore.

“It’s not completely their fault,” Lauren said. “No one was expecting you to be kidnapped.”

Darcy snorted. “It’s their job to expect the unexpected. They’re professionals.”

“I know, but they didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to you.”

“Oh. They didn’t mean it. Then that makes it all right.”

Lauren might technically be the firstborn, but she had the personality of a middle child-always seeing the other person’s side of things. It was a trait Darcy found annoying on occasion, even as she admired it.

“Darcy…,” her sister began.

Darcy waved her off. “Don’t sweat it. They’ll be on their toes now. That’s what matters. So we’ll head off to our separate but equal locations and wait for the crazies to be caught.”

And then what? She’d tried to live a normal life, but it was impossible while her father was in office.

“There was so much to cancel,” Lauren said. “I had two benefits, and I was going to be at a state dinner.” She frowned. “Weren’t you flying to New York?”

“Yeah.” Darcy didn’t want to think about that either.

Lauren groaned. “Your interview. When is it?”

“Monday.”

Being the president’s daughter put her in the unique position of being unemployable in her chosen field. She was a graphic artist with a master’s in marketing. But, as the dozens of companies she’d applied to over the past couple of years had told her, no client wanted to turn down a presentation by someone so close to the president. It could be very bad for business. Rather than put their clients in such an awkward position, she’d been passed over time and again.

A small firm in New York had been willing to take a chance on her. Now she was unlikely to make her second interview, and telling them why wasn’t going to make them want to hire her.

“Maybe if you explained,” Lauren said, looking so earnest Darcy actually laughed.

“What? That I was recently kidnapped and have to lay low until the culprits are found? I don’t think that will win me employee of the month.”

Lauren sighed. “I know this life is hard for you.”

“And I know you love it,” Darcy said without rancor. It was true-public life suited her sister. Lauren was never happier than when she was cutting a ribbon at some hospital wing opening, or serving as their father’s hostess for a formal dinner for three hundred. Darcy would rather be staked naked in the desert on top of a nest of fire ants.

“I’ll be fine,” she said before tender-hearted Lauren started to cry again. “Don’t worry about it. Have you met your new security team?” she asked, to change the subject to something more neutral.

“No. Have you?”

“Just one of them. Alex Vanmeter. He’s downstairs. He looks competent, but I’ll be grilling him later to make sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Lauren stared at her. “The incredibly hunky guy who looks like a street fighter? I’m sure he’ll keep you safe.”

“I wish I was sure.” Darcy shook her head. “You know, I’m actually not interested in his looks right now. He could be a troll, as long as he’s a troll who knows what he’s doing.”

She crossed to her dresser and pulled out bras and panties, then tucked them into the suitcase. She’d already packed up her art supplies and her laptop.

Lauren walked to the window and stared down at the Secret Service team below. “What happened to the two guys assigned to you?” she asked.

“I don’t have a clue.” Darcy didn’t think they were in a good place for having lost her. “Don’t worry. I doubt they were taken out back and shot.” Although in her mind, they more than deserved a good beating. Or maybe a kidnapping. Let them feel what she’d experienced. Toss them in the back of a filthy van driven by demon-headed guys named Bill and force them to open a purse with their teeth.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Lauren said. “I feel bad for them. And you, of course.”

“Of course. Doesn’t seeing both sides ever make you tired?”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Desperately. I mostly do it to make you crazy.”

Darcy grinned. “You usually succeed.”

“I’m glad.” Lauren turned serious. “You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

Darcy figured that in time she would be able to sleep and the flashes of terror would recede. Until then, she would simply fake her way through it. That had always worked for her before. “I promise.”

“I guess we’ll be able to talk by phone on secure lines. I want to hear about everything.”

“Me, too.”

Lauren moved close, and they hugged again. “I love you,” her sister whispered.

“I love you, too. Be good.”

“That’s my line,” Lauren said as she stepped back and waved.

Darcy watched her go then turned back to her packing. For the moment, the fear was gone, but in its place was a dark and lonely space.

Joe arrived at the Marcelli winery shortly after four in the afternoon. He’d put off leaving as long as he could, which had meant all of the morning, but he’d known better than to linger much past noon. He might be entering hell on earth, but he was still a naval officer. His job was to follow orders.

As he turned onto the road that led to the three-story hacienda, he studied the pale yellow stucco structure as he might an enemy target, or a place he would have to defend.

Too many windows and exits, he thought grimly as he took in the French doors leading to balconies and the decorative wrought iron that would allow someone in reasonable shape to climb from flower beds to the tile roof. Trees that others would think provided comfortable shade in the August heat showed him places snipers could hide.

Beyond the house was a multicar garage that could conceal at least fifty armed men, and less than a quarter mile beyond that were the various buildings of the winery.

Perfect, he thought grimly as he pulled his truck up behind the house and turned off the engine. Maybe someone could call in one of those entertainment networks to announce Darcy Jensen’s location to add to the challenge.

The rear door of the house opened, and a man stepped onto the porch. Joe recognized Marco Marcelli, his biological father.

“Joe! You’re here.”

Marco hurried to the truck and met Joe as he closed the driver’s door behind him.

Marco studied him for a second before wrapping both arms around Joe in a welcoming hug. Joe accepted the embrace-to do otherwise would invite conversations he didn’t want to have, then when he was free, he stepped back and glanced around.

“A lot of grapes,” he said, motioning to the vines heavy with fruit.

“A good year,” Marco said. “Brenna and Grandpa Lorenzo are excited about the harvest. More wine means more excuses for Colleen and me to travel as we sell the wine. I’m not complaining.”

Joe nodded, as if the information had meaning. The Marcellis were wine. Marco’s children were the fourth generation to grow grapes on this stretch of land. He and his wife, Colleen, were responsible for sales.

Marco patted the side of the truck. “You usually travel light.”

“I don’t know how long I’m going to be here,” Joe said, wishing that wasn’t the case. “I couldn’t fit everything on my motorcycle, so I rented the truck.”

“They haven’t told us much,” Marco told him. “But several people from the government have been all over the property and have spoken with everyone in the family. They picked you to help.”

Joe heard the pride in Marco’s voice and thought about telling him that the only reason any of this was happening was because Joe’s men had screwed up.

“I thought I’d brief everyone at once,” Joe said. “I guess we should do that first, before I unpack.”

Marco patted his shoulder. “It’s good that you’re staying here for a while, Joe. We want…” The older man hesitated. “We’re helping because of you.”

Joe knew what he was trying to do-show that the family would be there for him. Marco, like every other Marcelli, had spent the past three years doing his best to convince Joe he was one of them.

Joe knew different. He might share bloodlines, but they had nothing else in common, and they would never be his family.

“Tessa made up your room,” Marco said.

“I appreciate that.” He looked at the man who thought of himself as Joe’s father. “You know this is temporary. I’m only staying until the job is done.”

Marco nodded. “Of course. You’re still a navy man.”

The back door opened again. A small, elderly woman with gray hair piled on her head walked onto the porch. “Joseph? Is that you? So that’s what they’re teaching officers these days? That it’s polite to keep an old woman waiting?”

Despite his dislike of the assignment and the pressure he felt being back at the winery, Joe couldn’t help smiling as he crossed to the house and climbed the three back stairs.

“No, Tessa, that’s not what they teach me,” he said as he bent down to gather her close. Too late he remembered her need to pinch every cheek in range. Her forefinger and thumb closed over his skin with enough strength to snap steel. He might have survived a gunshot wound and a couple of knife fights, but man, could she make him wince.

“Let me look at you,” she said, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him into the kitchen. “The government has sent people here. They talk to us and ask questions. They say we need clearance, but they won’t say for what.” She humphed. “As if we would be a danger to anyone. Now.”

She stopped in the center of the kitchen and studied him from head to toe. Her dark eyes missed nothing as she frowned and poked him in the stomach. “You’re not eating enough. You look skinny.”

“I weigh exactly the same as I did the last time I was here,” he told her.

“You were too skinny then, too. All that exercise. It’s not good for you. I’m going to feed you while you’re here. You’ll eat good food. What do you have at the place you live? Junk food? A man your age on his own. It’s not a good thing.” Her expression softened as she took his hand in hers and rubbed his fingers. “Joseph, you need to be married, eh? A wife would know how to take care of you.”

It was a familiar conversation, one he refused to participate in. “Who else is at the hacienda?” he asked.

Grandma Tessa narrowed her gaze. “Your mother and Lorenzo. They’ll be here in a few minutes. So what is this all about?”

Just then Colleen Marcelli walked into the kitchen. She was a well-dressed, petite woman a year or so shy of fifty. Her stylish clothes and unlined face made her look much younger, but Joe could do the math. He’d just turned thirty-three, which meant Colleen had had him when she was still in high school.

“Joe,” she breathed when she saw him. Her expression blended hope and longing in a painful combination. He could deal with the rest of them, but seeing Colleen always made him feel guilty. He couldn’t shake the sense of being a real bastard every time he held her at arm’s length. He knew what she wanted-what they all wanted.

Rather than deal with the guilt, he stepped forward and hugged her. Before he straightened, Lorenzo Marcelli, the aging patriarch, strolled into the kitchen.

“So, you’re back,” the elder Marcelli growled. “They’re snooping around here like we’re a bunch of terrorists. Send them away.”

“Not in my job description,” Joe said as he released his mother and shook hands with Marco’s father. “You’re looking well.”

“I’m old,” Lorenzo said. “This is all a bunch of nonsense.”

“Pop, it’s not so bad,” Marco said.

“You don’t even know what’s going on,” Lorenzo complained. “None of us do. If those agents trample even one grape, there will be hell to pay.”

“Lorenzo!” Tessa reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a rosary. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” Lorenzo thumped the cane he’d started using about a year ago and made his way to the large kitchen table in the center of the room. “Well, get on with it. Tell us why we’ve been taken over like an enemy country.”

Joe nodded at Marco, who led Colleen and Tessa to chairs by Lorenzo’s. When they were seated, he began.

“What I’m about to tell you is classified information. You are not to discuss it with anyone outside of the immediate family.”

Tessa reached for Lorenzo’s hand, and Colleen shivered. “That sounds so serious,” she said nervously.

“It is,” he told her. “Two days ago the president’s daughter was kidnapped. She got away, but the kidnappers are still out there.”

Tessa gasped and clutched her beads tighter. “Who would do that? She’s a lovely girl. So pretty and always helping with those little children.”

Colleen nodded. “It was so sad when she lost her husband. Their wedding was so beautiful. They’d barely been married a year when he was killed in that car accident. She got so sad afterward.” She reached for Marco. “I can’t imagine what she must have gone through, missing him so much.”

Lorenzo frowned. “What does this have to do with us? What do we care about his daughter?”

“Lorenzo!” Tessa glared at him. “We care. Lauren Jensen-Smith is a lovely girl.” She turned her attention to Joe. “How can we help?” Even as she asked the question, her breath caught. “Oh! Is she coming here?”

“Not exactly,” Joe said, wondering why they’d done the same thing he had-jumped to the conclusion that it was Lauren who was in trouble and not Darcy.

“You’ll have the president’s daughter here, but it won’t be Lauren,” he said. “It will be the other one. Darcy.”

There was a moment of silence. Colleen released her husband’s arm and smoothed down her skirt. “I’m sure she’s very nice, too.”

“That other one?” Lorenzo asked. “I don’t know anything about her. Except she never bothered to get married and have babies to make her family proud.”

With that he pushed to his feet and used his cane to help him turn. “This is all a waste of time if you ask me,” he grumbled as he slowly limped out of the room.

Tessa rose as well. “Are you sure they’re not sending Lauren? A nice, pretty girl like that needs to be married.” She smiled at him. “Maybe to an officer.”

Joe held in a groan. Right. Because his life wasn’t hellish enough already. Fortunately a knock on the back door prevented him from responding. He crossed the kitchen and opened it.

“Lieutenant Commander Joseph Larson?” the woman on the other side asked.

He nodded.

“I’m Special Agent Paige Newberry. I saw you arrive and thought I would introduce myself to you and meet the family.”

She stepped inside and shook his hand. Paige was tall, only a couple of inches shorter than his own six feet. She wore a dark pants suit and a concealed sidearm. Short hair framed attractive features.

He was used to judging people in a matter of seconds. Joe’s first impression of Special Agent Newberry was that she was intelligent, competent, and ready to play on a team. Thank God he wasn’t in this alone.

Joe had been briefed early that morning. While the Secret Service was in charge of Darcy and her protection, Joe was there to act as liaison with the family and to offer any expertise the Secret Service might require. As he doubted they wanted or needed his help, he was little more than a glorified babysitter. None of which was the agent’s fault.

Joe led her into the kitchen.

“This is Special Agent Paige Newberry,” he said. “She’s in charge of Darcy Jensen’s personal security.”

“Actually Special Agent Alex Vanmeter is in charge of this operation,” Paige said with a smile. “He’s with Darcy right now. They’ll be arriving in the morning. I am, however, one of the agents who will be in close contact with Darcy at all times.”

Tessa nodded. “You call her by her first name?”

“Yes, ma’am. At her request.”

“This is Tessa Marcelli,” Joe said by way of introduction. “Marco Marcelli and his wife, Colleen.”

Paige shook hands with all of them. Colleen moved to the ever-present coffeepot and began to pour. “This is really difficult to take in. The president’s daughter. Here. What are we supposed to do? How do we act? What do we call her?”

Paige smiled. “I think she’d like Darcy best. In fact I would prefer that you use first names with all of us. That way we don’t call attention to ourselves.”

Colleen looked at her dark suit. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not exactly fitting in with the locals.”

“I know. I brought more casual clothes with me. I thought I’d wait until Special Agent Vanmeter arrives before changing.”

Joe stared at Paige. There was something about the way she said “Special Agent Vanmeter.” He couldn’t put his finger on the inflection, but he would bet it meant something.

“You’ve worked with him before?” he asked.

Paige nodded. “He’s excellent. Very thorough. Darcy will be safe, as will your family, Lieutenant Commander.”

“We agreed on first names,” Joe said.

“Of course.”

Tessa began pulling food out of the refrigerator. “Sit. Sit. You need to eat. Marco, bring Paige some wine.”

“Oh, no thanks. I can’t drink on duty.”

Tessa waved away her words. “You said Darcy won’t arrive until the morning. Be on duty then.”

Joe led her to the table and sat across from her. In a matter of seconds, seemingly from nowhere, food appeared. Salads, fixings for sandwiches, three kinds of cookies, bread, cheese, and of course pasta. He was used to the quantity of the spread, but Paige looked stunned.

Joe grinned. “You’d better eat, or they’ll get surly.”

“Of course you’ll eat,” Tessa said as she set wineglasses in front of them. “So, Paige, are you married?”

Thirty minutes later, Paige and Joe escaped the clutches of Grandma Tessa, as she’d insisted on being called, and stepped out in the sunset. Paige had enjoyed the home-cooked food, even if it came with a pretty big side of matchmaking.

“Interesting family,” she said.

“She’s determined to get me married,” Joe said flatly.

“Yet you’ve stood strong against her all these years. Impressive.”

He shrugged then glanced around at the vineyards, which stretched for miles.

“Do you really think you can protect Darcy Jensen here?” he asked.

Paige wasn’t sure if his question was simple conversation or a genuine concern. “The location is a compromise, but I think it’s a good one. Who knows how long it will take to track down the kidnappers? I understand Darcy’s need to be in a place where she won’t get claustrophobic.”

“Better claustrophobic than dead.”

“Agreed, but we’re going to keep her alive.” She walked toward the guesthouse, which would serve as both her sleeping quarters and temporary headquarters. “Darcy will be kept close to the house for the first few days. We’ll have agents in the tasting rooms and other tourist areas to keep them from getting anywhere near the hacienda. I’ve already spoken with Brenna Marcelli about that. She was more than cooperative.” She glanced at the naval officer at her side. “Your sister?”

“One of four,” Joe said. “She runs this winery, along with a smaller one. Her husband owns Wild Sea.”

“Right.” Paige remembered her briefing notes and the interview she’d had the previous day. “Nic Giovanni. He’s cooperating as well. In fact everyone has been more than helpful.”

“Lucky us.”

She turned to Joe. He was tall, good-looking, and had a service record that would make anyone proud. But she would bet her next three paychecks he didn’t want to be here.

“You’re acting as our liaison with the family,” she said. “We appreciate that.”

“I live to serve.”

The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose. She felt like an angry cat trying to puff up to look more intimidating. She might be a hell of an agent, but Joe Marcelli had been a SEAL. In a one-on-one situation, she didn’t stand a chance. Still, that wouldn’t stop her from taking him on.

“Lieutenant Commander Larson,” she said, keeping her voice steady and firm, “I cannot stress the importance of this assignment enough. We are protecting the life of the daughter of the president of the United States. Two days ago someone got close enough to abduct her. She was forcibly taken, tied up, and threatened. Do you think there was even one moment in her life that prepared her for that kind of terror?”

Joe didn’t look much more than bored with the conversation. “I’m a naval officer, Special Agent Newberry. I’ll do my job.”

“Not good enough. I’m willing to take a bullet for her. If you can’t offer that same level of commitment, I don’t want you here.”

“You don’t have the authority to get rid of me.”

She leaned in slightly. “Want to test that theory? Nothing is going to happen to Darcy Jensen on my watch. I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to offend to keep her safe. If you’re not fully on this team, then you’re in my way. Do I make myself clear?”

His expression didn’t change, but she saw something flash in his eyes. Respect, maybe. However grudgingly given, she would accept it.

“You like her,” he said, sounding surprised.

“I do. I’ve worked with Darcy before. She’s funny, smart, and not interested in being the center of attention. That makes my job easier, and I appreciate that. So are you on board?”

He nodded. “A hundred percent.”

Paige accepted his word because she had to, but she vowed to keep an eye on him. SEAL or not-if he got in her way, she was taking him down.

Darcy had spent the previous night in a small house on the edge of Baltimore. This morning, after a short flight to Florida, she’d been delivered to another nondescript location on the edge of what looked like a massive swamp. She’d been warned not to leave the house, not to make phone calls, and not to answer the door under any circumstances.

Oh, right. Because she wanted to make a general statement, announcing her location to the world.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door. Darcy refused to be seen as a coward, so she uncurled on the bed and sat up.

“Come in,” she said, expecting Alex Vanmeter, the special agent in charge of her security and Drew’s replacement.

Alex stepped in and nodded at her. “Your father will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Darcy blinked at him. “My father? He’s in Chicago.”

“He’s flying back to D.C. tonight and is stopping by to see you.”

Before Darcy could say anything, Alex touched the ever-present earpiece and then nodded. “Falcon is on the ground.”

Meaning her father had landed and was being driven to the safe house.

She stood. As Alex excused himself, she entered the bathroom attached to the bedroom and ran a brush through her short, dark hair. She looked tired and either sick or shell-shocked. Makeup could help, but there wasn’t much time.

Exactly fourteen minutes later, President Ryan Jensen walked into her temporary bedroom.

“Darcy,” he said when his assigned agent had swept the room then left them alone. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m sure the doctors faxed you a medical report. You tell me.”

Ryan Jensen had served as vice president for four years before running for the head job. He was eighteen months into his first term. The stresses of the office aged some men, but not her father. Oh, there were a few more gray hairs at his temples, but that only made him more attractive. Last year he’d had to deal with the embarrassing reality of being named the country’s most eligible bachelor.

Right now, though, the leader of the free world looked annoyed and frustrated. “Darcy, I’m on a very tight schedule. I changed my flight plan to come by and see you. That has to mean something.”

“It does, Dad. Really. I hope you’re not keeping anyone important waiting. I mean it’s been nearly forty-eight hours since the kidnapping. I wouldn’t have wanted you to rush to my side or anything.”

His gaze narrowed. “I phoned when I was informed about the kidnapping.”

“You did, and it was a very touching call. Did I thank you for it? I meant to.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered. “Fine. Be angry with me or whomever you’d like. Regardless, I’m glad you’re all right and I want you to stay safe. For once, listen to what the agents tell you to do, will you?”

The unfairness of the request took her breath away. She’d always listened. They were the ones who had let her down.

But what was the point in trying to explain anything? Ryan Jensen had stopped hearing her years ago.

“Be grateful you got away without getting hurt,” he added.

Darcy thought about the still-healing scratches on her legs, the rope burns on her wrists, and the pain in her heart. There had been plenty of wounding, but it wasn’t the kind he meant.

Someone knocked on the closed door. Ryan Jensen glanced toward it, then back at her. “I need to get to Washington. You’ll have a secure line up and running at your safe house in a day or so. Check in and let me know how you are.”

“It’s what I live for,” she told him.

“Dammit, Darcy.” He looked at her, started to speak, then caught himself. He turned away and was gone.

When she was alone again, Darcy crawled back onto the bed and pulled her knees to her chest. He was a busy man. She should be grateful he’d diverted to Florida to see her. It could almost mean something.

But instead of convincing herself, she remembered a dark night ten years before. When he’d glared at her and yelled that she wasn’t his daughter. She never had been.

Later, he’d apologized. He’d spoken in anger and grief. He hadn’t meant it.

Regardless of his contrition, he’d spoken the truth. Ryan Jensen wasn’t her father. That long-ago night the lies fell away, and his words had changed her forever.